


fair land (to which I go)

by HaughtPocket



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt, F/F, Minor Character Death, Moonshine, OMG THE SKIN ON YOUR WRISTS, Period Typical Attitudes, Prohibition AU, Violence, WynHaught brotp, and then goes up and down, angsty first chapter but it calms the fuck down, because 1920s, follow gays on their quest to figure out what the fuck it is they are feeling, kind of like a roller coaster, like WHOA HANDS, mentions of abuse, period typical slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-04-04 23:56:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14031663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaughtPocket/pseuds/HaughtPocket
Summary: "Years of traveling, wandering, and Nicole has never seen anyone like her, not even close. Never even heard a name like that.Waverly.Such a small thing, but she’smighty. She’s alion, Nicole thinks, watching her tower over everyone even though she’s looking up at them. She’s seen beautiful women, but Waverly is something else, something Nicole doesn’t even have words for.Waverly.Her hand slips out of Nicole’s, and somehow... it’swrong."-Work In Progress-





	1. Wayfaring Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> Listen. LISTEN, LINDA!
> 
> Just hear me out!
> 
> I know _exactly_ what you're thinking.
> 
> "Ugghhhh. Another chapter fic from this kid that's just gonna get dumped & forgotten. Right. I'm gonna reread Get Lost."
> 
> BUT LISTEN.
> 
> IN MY DEFENSE! .... ..... I had no idea what I was doing. Zero percent. None. So they went unfinished. But as I wandered by the side of the road, this fantastic beta they call "The Gay Smurf" or "Patron Saint of Wayhaught Fic" happened to see me and take pity on me. I'm forever in her debt.
> 
> She helped me flesh this out this idea, this desire to see wayhaught in this particular setting (I couldn't stop thinking about a gay Lawless - that is a film, inspired this but you don't, in any way need to have seen it to read this).
> 
> She told me ... I've lost count of how many times, _not_ to throw this away, to keep writing it. She slapped my face when I said it was shit. Sidenote my face hurts so bad. But I really cannot emphasize how important and crucial Smurf has been in this. Just so, so incredible.
> 
> That's all to say - this actually has a solid outline, very set ending, etc.
> 
> I was honestly going to wait until I had the whole thing written to post it. But this first section kept on staring at me and taunting me. It's been very rude, frankly. So me posting is essentially kicking it to the curb and telling it to shut the hell up. I mean, I hope y'all enjoy it, but this is for my benefit. I'm selfish.
> 
> So...
> 
> This is based in the small town of Floyd, Virginia. It has, of course, been renamed. But nearly everything is/will be based on the actual layout of Floyd. (I was actually going to keep it named Floyd until Smurf gently reminded me of this canon place called Purgatory...)
> 
> As for period-appropriate attitudes - yes, people are racist, homophobic, etc. But those things aren't what the story is about, therefore, this fic will acknowledge the presence of these things, but they won't overtake the story. I want this to be an enjoyable read. So these things won't be at the forefront.
> 
> Updates.  
> I can't say specifically when they'll come. WE GET THERE WHEN WE GET THERE. Sometimes my brain hates me and I just have to deal with its tantrums so please bear with me <3 They'll happen, promise :)
> 
> **Note**  
> Summary updated because I posted this work without thinking that particular part through and wasn't satisfied with that.

 

 

She’s not sure how it happened.

 

One minute she’s walking on a dirt road. The next, she’s fighting a man she doesn’t even know the name of. Though, really, it’s not the strangest thing to that’s happened to her.

 

A fist drops, and Nicole’s mind and muscles react.

 

_ Face. Go. _

 

She punches the weak spot and the man staggers back.

 

_ Ribs. Go. _

 

One-two, one-two, she goes until he hits the ground.

 

Then the voice of a terrifying angel is threatening them all with a shotgun.

 

  
  


 

**| wanderer |**

  
  


[Somewhere in Ghost River County, Virginia, 1928]

 

She shields her eyes from the hot July sun, judging the time by its place in the sky.

 

_ Just past noon _ .

 

Nicole Haught has been walking down a dirt road longer than she can remember now, and she knows she’s a damn sight. Her shirt clings to her body from the sweat. Her face is probably brown from the mixture of perspiration and dust. Her stomach growls at her, and she realizes that she hasn’t eaten in … well, she doesn’t even  _ know _ how long.

 

She’s not even sure  _ where _ she is anymore. Only knows that she’s on some road in Ghost River.

 

Because she kept on walking. And that’s where her feet took her.

 

The farther she goes, the more trees appear. At first, specks on the horizon. Now the dirt road is a sore thumb in the middle of rolling emerald hills, trees taller than god’s arm. The dry heat slowly morphed its way into sticky humidity.

 

An engine roars behind her, and Nicole turns back to face the way she came. 

 

_ Chrysler Model B-70. _

 

Up to 75 miles per hour, capable of accelerating from 5 to 25 mph in 7 seconds.

 

Nicole doesn’t even know how to drive, but  _ damn _ if that isn’t a fine car.

 

She’s still firmly planted, ogling, when the car slides to a stop right beside her.

 

A man inside with a big mustache, a pitch black Homburg hat, and a charming smile if Nicole ever saw one leans against the open passenger window. “Afternoon, ma’am.” He tips his hat, just barely. “Appears you have traveled a mighty fine distance. Quite warm for such ventures, is it not?”

 

He speaks with a slow, steady drawl, right from the heart of Georgia. Nicole only pinpoints this because she lived there (if one could call it living, and Nicole doesn’t).

 

She shrugs simply, but truthfully, she’d kill for a glass of cold water and an even colder bath. The army duffle on her shoulders feels like a hundred pounds, even though it carries very few possessions.

 

The door opens before she can say a word, and the man is waving his hand, motioning for her to join him.

 

The hair on the back of her neck isn’t standing, and she doesn’t feel her stomach twist in a knot. So she carefully steps into the clean vehicle. It’s not the first time she’s hitched a ride from a complete stranger. Won’t be the last.

 

“I don’t mean this in any disrespectful way, but you look dreadful.” His foot hits the gas and they’re sailing. “May I inquire as to where you are headed?”

 

_ Good question _ .

 

“Don’t know. Wherever I end up, I suppose,” she mumbles, maybe a little too quiet.

 

Nicole has never been in a vehicle this nice, and she is acutely aware of how filthy she is in contrast to the spotless interior, and she’s nervous that the man will notice and kick her out. But,  _ God _ , she is tired, and  _ really _ enjoying the feeling of the wind in her face.

 

Suddenly, the man snaps his fingers as they hang over the steering wheel. “I do beg your pardon, ma’am. My name is Doc. And who might you be?” 

 

He sees her, Nicole  _ knows _ he sees how dirty she is, but he doesn’t seem to mind. And she notices that he has bright blue eyes. They’re nice.

 

“Nicole.”

 

“And where are you coming from, Miss Nicole?”

 

“Nicole. Just … Nicole. Down in Martinsville last.”

 

Doc’s eyebrows shoot up at the information. “That is quite the trek indeed,  _ Nicole _ .”

 

Nicole hums in response and her eyes drift to a filling station at the side of the road. Several folks sit in a half-circle, plucking a banjo, slapping a tambourine, blowing on a harmonica, sliding a bow across a fiddle. Nicole lets the melody seep through her.

 

“A feast for the ears.” Doc’s voice calls her back to the present moment.

 

“Sure is,” Nicole says, thoughtful. One thing she’ll never tire of - sitting by fires, late at night, listening to the voice of the South.

 

They pass a sign that says “Welcome to Purgatory,” age-worn and fading in the sun.

 

_ Purgatory… _

 

She’s never heard of the place before.

 

“What was it you did in Martinsville?” Doc interrupts her thoughts.

 

Nicole shifts uncomfortably in her seat. It’s a touchy subject - for most, anyway. “Boxing.”

 

“You  _ don’t _ say!” Doc appears to be truly impressed. “I heard of the underground women’s boxing, but I have never met one of the fine ladies in person. Shame, really, that you are relegated to the confines of nooks and crannies while men parade the stage. And may I say, it is a  _ pleasure _ to make your acquaintance.”

 

Turning his head for a moment, he moves one hand outwards for Nicole to shake.

 

And she’s taken aback by the direction their conversation has gone, and how  _ kind _ this man is. She shakes his hand, only barely aware of the suspicious expression on her face.

 

Doc gives her one more quick glance. “Folks must not be so keen on your profession, I take it?”

 

Nicole is now  _ fully  _ aware of the suspicious expression on her face, and shakes it off. “It ain’t popular, if that’s what you’re asking.”

 

“Well, I find it fascinating. And  _ powerful _ ,” Doc says the last word with gusto. “Correct me if I am wrong, but you seem to be wandering a bit. Do you have a bed for the night?”

 

Nicole scoffs at the question. “No, sir.”

 

“Now, if I am to call you  _ Nicole _ , then you are to call me  _ Doc _ .” He gives her a quick glance and she nods. “My place of employ happens to have a spare bedroom. Care for a place to lay your head until you have more … permanent plans?”

 

This is how it goes.

 

She walks, sometimes hitches a ride. Finds a place to sleep. Sometimes she stays for months, sometimes she’s gone before the sun’s up. And then she keeps walking.

 

“I’d appreciate that very much.”

  
  


**| a lion**

  
  


“Jonas Adamson, you get your  _ shit _ heads off this land before you  _ permanently _ become a part of it.”

 

Nicole had followed Doc into the house (which also doubles as a small bar, it seems), and straight into a brawl.

 

_ Jonas _ seemed to be the leader of the three men that now left the bar. But not before his eyes raked over the small woman’s body. Nicole’s fists tightened at her sides, ready for another round.

 

The shotgun-wielding angel turned to another woman. Tall, untamed hair that’s wild in her face. She was on Jonas’s back, her arm tight around his neck when Nicole first saw her - a memorable first impression if there ever was one.

 

Now she mutters expletives under her breath while pouring alcohol into a glass, and Nicole wonders if the whole thing is foreboding.

 

“ _ Goddamn _ … cowards,” she’s mumbling, and then she yells out the door where the men had left, “go cry to your  _ judge _ !” She slings back the liquid, stands, and stumbles to the door, one finger up as if she’s just remembered something of great importance.

 

“Fuckin’…  _ cowards _ !”

 

Nicole watches in somewhat of a stupor. This woman is wetter than a dog in a thunderstorm.

 

The angel levels a glare at the wild woman. One look at her and Nicole can tell she is  _ livid _ . “What in the  _ hell _ was that, Wynonna?”

 

_ Wynonna _ …

 

Wynonna turns to the angel, giving an exaggerated shrug of her shoulders. “Hey, you see this?” Her voice is slurred, just the slightest bit. “Doc brought us a  _ hound dog _ !” She raises another glass in Nicole’s direction, like a toast, and empties it in one go, face souring. She goes back for her seat, but miscalculates the distance. She lands on the floor with a muttered  _ fuck you _ .

 

The angel rolls her eyes, her shoulders sag heavily.

 

Nicole’s seen many a deb in her day. Stood next to women in pearls and slinky dresses and arms all over her, stomach all topsy-turvy as their fingers drew patterns on her aching muscles.

 

Once, a tall lady - even taller than Nicole (and she’s a good height) - with a divine face and a deep voice whispered in her ear after she’d just won a mighty tough fight.

 

“ _ Come dance with me _ .”

 

Nicole did dance with her, at a party, at her house. More specifically, her  _ husband’s _ house. She let the woman drape her arms around her shoulders and play with her hair while she nervously held the waist of the shimmering dress. The woman spent all night draped around Nicole’s neck like that, running her fingers up and down her sore, tired arms.

 

She may have been the most beautiful woman Nicole had come across in her travels. But as soon as the woman passed out, drunk, Nicole left. To the next town, the next fight.

 

Nicole still remembers her strong jaw and deep eyes. The feeling she got in the pit of her stomach when another woman held her close. Altogether unfamiliar, yet somehow just right.

 

But  _ now _ , the mighty angel simply nods her head and tells her that she’s called  _ Waverly _ , and something stirs in Nicole’s blood. The floor shifts beneath her feet, and everything seems a bit fuzzy.

 

_ Waverly _ .

 

Years of traveling, wandering, and Nicole has never seen anyone like her, not even close. Never even heard a name like that. 

 

_ Waverly. _

 

Such a small thing, but she’s  _ mighty _ . She’s a  _ lion _ , Nicole thinks, watching her tower over everyone even though she’s looking up at them. She’s seen beautiful women, but Waverly is something else, something Nicole doesn’t even have words for.

 

Nicole’s never even seen  _ clothes _ like the ones Waverly Earp is wearing. It looks like she’s styled them herself. Like she’s not following any sort of pattern before her, just making them up as she goes. She looks like a star out of a Hollywood film.

 

Like Maude Fealy. All that hair, swept over her shoulder. Nicole wonders if it’s naturally like that - if it curls and shapes just so - or if she has to work at it for hours. Lord knows Nicole would. It’s why she keeps her hair so short.

 

_ Waverly _ .

 

Her hand slips out of Nicole’s, and somehow... it’s  _ wrong _ .

  
  


**-**

  
  


“Who the  _ fuck _ you think you are, Holliday?” Wynonna had gotten real close to his face, unsettlingly close, pointing an accusing finger.

 

“Just trying to help a stranger in need,” he’d said, his hands held high in surrender, though it didn’t do much good.

 

“You can sleep in the barn.”

 

Wynonna had grimaced and waved her hand in Nicole’s direction and stomped up a set of stairs. No one argued. The air felt silent and heavy, and Nicole started to regret climbing in that car with Doc.

 

Because it felt a bit like maybe she’d be sad to leave this place, or maybe she wouldn’t be upset if she stayed a while longer. 

 

And that… that wasn’t a welcome feeling, not for Nicole Haught.

 

Then she felt Waverly’s eyes on her, her lips drawn in a firm line, and Nicole knew that the longer she looked into those eyes - deep and mighty and capable  - the more difficult it’d be to  _ not _ look at them.

 

_ Fuck... _

 

A smaller woman had descended the steps, yelling at Wynonna all the while, and interrupted the silence.

 

_ Gus _ .

 

Wynonna and Waverly Earp’s aunt. Kind enough, she seemed. She’d showed her to the barn, even pointed out the makeshift bed Doc had made some time ago.

 

Nicole lies on the bed now, hands under her head and eyes wandering across the beams of the barn, occasionally swatting dust away from her face. She chastises herself for wondering over the story of the Earps and Doc Holliday and Gus.

 

Because she knows they have one. But she shouldn’t really care.

 

The barn doors creak open, and something smells wonderful. Nicole sits upright, her eyes adjusting to the dark.

 

It’s Gus. She walks towards Nicole with her hands full - she’s carrying a plate and something else is lumpy over her shoulder.

 

“Here.” Gus hands Nicole the plate, filled with beans and some kind of meat, and stacks blankets from her shoulders on the bed. “Thank you. For helpin’ my girls today. Thought this might help make you more comfortable.” She wipes her hands on her worn white apron.

 

“Yes… yes ma’am. ‘Course,” Nicole stammers, a little nervous from the unnecessary kindness.

 

There’s a sigh and Nicole feels unspoken words. “Well. We’ll talk more in the morning. Get your sleep, then.”

 

Gus leaves Nicole in the dark of the barn. She pulls her shoes off and a handful of dirt falls out. She frowns, dusting the remnants from her socks. She tucks herself in the makeshift bed, and spoons a bite of beans in her mouth, going over the day’s events in her mind.

 

After Wynonna disappeared upstairs, Nicole hadn’t been sure what to do. Doc picked up a chair on the ground. Gus cupped a hand over Waverly’s cheek, went behind the bar, and started wiping it down. Waverly left and came back with a broom.

 

Nicole had just been  _ standing _ there and didn’t know what else to do, so she held out her hand. “I can do that.”

 

Waverly looked at her like she was trying to figure out Nicole’s reasoning. 

 

“Let me help, please.”

 

_ Don’t make me stand here a useless fool. _

 

Waverly handed her the broom, silent. She gave Nicole simple instructions and followed Gus behind the bar.

 

Nicole couldn’t help but steal glances out of the corner of her eye as she swept up the broken glass.

 

She can’t help but think of the woman now, how  _ different  _ she is. How completely solitary she is in a world of repeats.

 

It’s  _ terrifying _ .

  
  
  


**-**

  
  


She’s woken by a familiar sound: fist meeting flesh.

 

It sounds again, and Nicole scrambles, rolls more like it, a few too many time, and drops unceremoniously off the bed to the dirt. She runs to the barn door, squeezes an eye shut, and peeks through a hole.

 

_ Him. Jonas _ .

 

He’s leaning against a car, watching Wynonna stagger under the fists of a big brute while he lights a cigarette.

 

She hears a door slam and she can feel her throat closing, her eyes find Waverly - out on the front porch, wide-eyed and empty-handed.

 

_ Ah, hell. _

 

She knows. She knows what will happen now. And she knows she won’t be able to stop herself from preventing that. She shakes out her fists, rolls her shoulders, and stretches her neck.

 

_ Breath _ .

 

Nicole looks back to Jonas and shoves the barn door open when he proves her right. He pushes himself away from the car and saunters to the porch with a devilish grin.

 

She makes sure he doesn’t see her coming.

 

_ Face _ .

 

His face snaps sideways against her fist. He falls sideways to the ground, and she’s on him, one blow after another, until Jonas stills.

 

Nicole stops. Stares. Stares at the bloodied nose and mouth, and she freezes except for her chest, heaving from sudden exertion.

 

“ _ Wynonna _ ,” The angel’s voice calls her back. Waverly is right next to her now. Her eyes flit to Wynonna. Nicole follows them.

 

She’s pinned under the brute, barely holding his fists from crushing her face to the ground, and there’s a cloud of dust all around them.

 

“ _ Son of a - - fuck!!” _

 

Nicole moves. Fast. She’s on his back and wrapping him in a chokehold.

 

“Get,  _ now _ ,” she whispers harsh in his ear, “or I swear to Jesus, I will break your fucking neck.”

 

“Right, right!” he manages beneath her arm.

 

She drops, and he stumbles forward.

 

“Take your  _ pig _ .” Nicole is still breathing heavy as she motions towards Jonas, crawling on the ground.

 

They’re driving away, and Nicole helps Wynonna up from her back. from the ground. Her face is a mess, bloodied and bruised.

 

Nicole nods her head and starts back towards the barn when Wynonna stops her.

 

“There’s a bed inside.”

 

Nicole looks at Wynonna, who’s just staring at her with an unreadable expression. The words twist in her stomach, but she nods her head again and motions towards the barn.

 

“My things…”

 

When she reaches the front porch, Waverly is still there. Wynonna’s gone. Nicole stops at the steps. She shies a bit when she realizes that Waverly is in a small nightdress, only covered by a robe, not much bigger. Then her blood boils when she realizes how Jonas had looked as he walked toward her.

 

“You alright?” Nicole’s voice cracks.

 

The way Waverly is looking at her makes her feel like she didn’t just meet her hours ago. Like maybe, somehow, they’ve met before. In a dream or something out of a fairy tale. It makes Nicole’s skin burn in a frustratingly pleasant way.

 

Waverly nods, but her voice falters when she answers, “Best get inside now. Get some sleep.”

  
  


**an angel |**

  
  


Nicole’s eyes flutter open, and light is streaming in through a small window behind her. She stretches out as long as her body will go and feels the burn from the previous night’s events. She’s even more grateful for the bed she lies in after that.

 

For the first time in a long while, she lets herself rest comfortably, awake, looking around the room. Despite the outward appearance of a rundown old home, it’s a very nice room.

 

The door is straight in front of her, and to her left is a wardrobe. A mirror hangs on the wall above a washing bowl. Fresh flowers sit in a vase on a bedside table. Nicole wonders if they’ve been placed there for her, or if someone always puts flowers in spare bedrooms here.

 

Kicking the soft blanket off her body, she sits up in bed, grabs her trousers from the floor, and stands while pulling them on.

 

She rounds the bed and stands in front of the mirror, and just stares at herself for a bit.

 

She’s  _ filthy _ .

 

There’s a cut above her right eye, and she can see old scars on the left side of her face. Her fingers trace them and she flinches in phantom pain. Her auburn hair looks more brown with all the dirt that must’ve gathered while she walked.

 

A knock on the door nearly frightens the shit right out of her. But a calm voice follows it.

 

“Breakfast is ready, if you’re hungry.”

 

_ Waverly _ .

 

“Wait -” Nicole pulls the door open fast, and only then realizes that opening the door means she’d be standing face to face with that woman.

 

“I - I, uh... I’m a mess, you got -”

 

“Water?” Waverly bends and stands with a bucket of water. Clean water.

 

Nicole stares in wonder for a moment before taking the bucket. “Th - thank you.”

 

Waverly steps  _ closer _ , though, and her brows knit in concern. One of her hands drifts to the cut above Nicole’s eye. “You’re hurt.”

 

Nicole steps back on instinct, shaking her head. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll just clean it. Thank you, ma’am.”

 

Waverly looks at her, and Nicole can’t decipher what in the hell she could be thinking. Her lips are pursed in the slightest and her eyes make a quick run over Nicole’s body.

 

“Waverly,” she corrects Nicole, simply, before turning walking away.

 

Nicole isn’t much for fashion, but as she watches her go, she can’t help but notice Waverly’s clothes again.

 

She can tell that the floral blouse she’s wearing used to be a dress.

 

Nicole only knows because she’s seen the dress before, on another woman, in another town. Nicole shakes that one from her mind.

 

Waverly’s trousers look like they’d been made from a skirt. Nicole only figures this because she’s never seen a woman in pants before, leastways not pants that look like they were made for a woman’s body.

 

Wynonna wore pants, too. But they were men’s trousers. Very near the same kind Nicole still wears.

 

Not like Waverly’s. Nothing is like Waverly.

 

She should’ve stayed in the damn barn.

  
  


**-**

  
  


As she peers down the hall, Nicole realizes that she’s not sure where in the house she is. But she hears voices and follows them, down a long hall to her right, until there’s a door at her left. She grips the handle and turns it slowly, hoping it doesn’t make a sound.

 

The goddamn thing  _ squeaks _ .

 

She winces and someone pulls the door wide open.

 

_ Gus _ .

 

“Was wondering when you’d join us. Come on in. Made you some eggs.”

 

Nicole follows Gus into what obviously is their kitchen. It’s full of light, and smells like eggs and bacon and fresh flowers. She counts three vases full of them here, and thinks that someone must fill the whole house with them.

 

Wynonna and Doc lean against a table in the middle of the room. Waverly is standing at a countertop, pouring something.

 

“Why, good morning,  Jack.” Doc salutes her with a mug. Her brow crinkles at the nickname.

 

Wynonna gives her a look that Nicole doesn’t know the meaning of, rolls her neck, and bites into a piece of bread. Crumbs fall stick to her lips and catch in her face in a funny sort of contrast to the rest of her face - bruised and swollen. But Nicole knows that it could have been far worse.

 

Gus sets a plate full of eggs and a piece of toast at the table. She raises her brows expectantly, and Nicole hurries to the chair and plops down. Waverly comes up behind her and sets a cup of hot coffee next to her plate.

 

Nicole looks up into the inscrutable face and is about say  _ ma’am _ when she remembers how Waverly had corrected her earlier. But she can’t bring herself to say Waverly’s name. She’s not quite sure why. But maybe it’s better that way.

 

“Thank you,” she whispers instead.

 

It looks like Waverly is waiting for the  _ ma’am _ , but when she doesn’t hear it, she walks back to the counter where she’d been. Nicole’s eyes follow her, glued to the back of her head like maybe it’ll help her determine what the woman is thinking.

 

But she smells the coffee and the eggs, and her stomach growls something fierce, so she pulls her gaze away and eats.

 

“Hell of a right you got there.”

 

Nicole looks up from her plate and Wynonna is staring at her, unblinking. There’re still crumbs in her hair.

 

At this moment, Wynonna’s face is a puzzle. One that Nicole is having more trouble with than most. Wynonna’s elbows sit on the table and her chin rests in a hand. A few crumbs fall. She just  _ stares _ at Nicole. Nothing in the strong blue eyes gives away her thoughts.

 

“Doc says you’re a real fighter.”

 

Nicole slows her chew and shoots Doc a glance. He just shrugs his shoulders and drinks his coffee.

 

Wynonna’s face scrunches and her nose wrinkles. “So. I say… you got two weeks.”

 

Nicole hears a cup hit the counter a little too hard and flinches. Somehow, she can  _ feel _ Waverly tense. She doesn’t how, or why, or what that means, but she can feel it nonetheless. She grinds her teeth.

 

“Two weeks… for what?”

 

“You need a place to stay?” Wynonna questions. Waverly finally sits, wrapping an arm through Wynonna’s and squeezing gently, sipping her coffee.

 

“Well, sure, but -”

 

“Place to work?” Wynonna interrupts her.

 

Waverly  _ watches _ , like she’s anticipating her reply, as if it’s something important.

 

“I - I suppose…”

 

“Two weeks here. I think you’re good, you stay.”

 

Nicole didn’t even  _ ask _ for this. She looks at Doc again, and she  _ can _ read what  _ he’s _ thinking. He said something. He asked Wynonna if Nicole could stay here. Nicole is torn between the kindness of the gesture and the fact that he talked to Wynonna  _ about her _ .

 

“If I don’t want to stay?” Nicole challenges.

 

Waverly looks up from her coffee and her mouth is drawn in that thin line again. Frustrated? Angry? Nicole wishes for one  _ second _ she could see into that mind.

 

And goddamn Wynonna’s face, because there’s still  _ nothing _ that hints at what she’s musing over.

 

“Hm. I’d be mighty offended.”

 

Nicole purses her lips before responding. “And if you don’t like me?”

 

Wynonna shrugs and takes a sip of coffee.  _ More _ crumbs tumble into the cup. “I’ll probably kill you.”

 

Nicole has no idea what in the  _ hell _ that means.

  
  


**-**

  
  


The kitchen empties, except for Nicole and Gus.

 

Gus is generous with her food portions. She must see how hungry Nicole is, because every time she looks back at her once Nicole has emptied her plate, she raises her brows at the loaf of bread.

 

Finally feeling satisfaction in her stomach, she declines after the third piece, but accepts more coffee. She waits for Gus to speak, to say something.  _ Anything _ .

 

Nicole studies her while she waits. Gus wears a plain, dark blue dress, and a man’s overcoat. It’s too big, and rolled up at the sleeves, but it’s worn and dirty and looks like she never takes it off, even in the middle of July.

 

“Why don’t you stay up by the house today.” Gus rests her palms on the table, leaning a bit forward. “Get a feel for the land.”

 

Nicole swallows the coffee in her mouth and it burns a little as it goes down. “Yes, ma’am.”

  
  


**-**

  
  


Nicole is sitting on the front porch when a Ford Coupe drives up the way, parks next to the Chrysler, and an unfamiliar man emerges.

 

He’s tall with broad shoulders, deep umber skin that shines in the sun. His beard is strong and thick, like his shoulders. He seems familiar with the place, because he starts towards the porch like it’s his daily routine.

 

The screen door opens behind her and Wynonna stomps out, hurrying towards the man.

 

When he sees her, his expression changes. His brows draw in concern, and he stops short in his steps.

 

“Who did this?” His head cranes like the perpetrator might still be around.

 

It’s less of a question, and more of a demand.

 

“You have to ask?”

 

He takes her face in his hands, gently, and turns it side to side. “Should’a been here…”

 

Wynonna’s voice is reprimanding in her reply. “Don’t you do that. I’m alright. This one’s got a hell of a hook.” Wynonna nods her head back in Nicole’s direction.

 

He looks at Nicole and nods. She understands.  _ Thank you _ .

 

“Xavier.” He holds his hand out, and she takes it.

 

“Nicole. Nicole Haught.”

 

“Good to meet you, Nicole.”

 

Xavier turns back to Wynonna. “All the crops are on schedule. Should be here end of September.”

 

Wynonna nods. “Good.”

 

Nicole only watches out of the side of her eye. They press their foreheads together and murmur things only they can hear. Wynonna lightly punches his chest and walks back up the porch, leaving him behind.

 

Xavier takes a seat next to Nicole and takes a deep breath. “Thank you.”

 

Nicole turns, and he’s just gazing out over the dirt road.

 

“Should’a been here,” he repeats quiet and slow. Nicole thinks maybe it was mostly to himself. His hands wring tight together and his head drops.

 

Nicole isn’t quite sure what to do, how to reassure this stranger she’s only met.

 

“Well,” she draws out, “makes you feel better, fairly certain I broke that Jonas boy’s nose.”

 

There’s a silent beat before she hears Xavier laugh quietly.

 

He scratches his fingers through his rough beard. “Sure does.”

 

They stop when they hear another car. By the look on Xavier’s face, it’s not a friendly one.

 

Two men step out, different from the day before. One’s thin and lanky, the other’s got a face like a wild dog.

 

Thin One steps forward, eyes on Nicole, but Xavier stands and steps between them.

 

“I ain’t here for you, boy.” His voice is off-putting, eerie. 

 

Xavier doesn’t respond, just stands, silent and strong. The man tries to walk around him, but Xavier presses his palm to his chest, stopping him.

 

Man looks up with a dreadful mean face. “Take your cotton-pickin’ hands off me,” he mutters, slow, and right in Xavier’s face.

 

Nicole stands then, steps in line next to Xavier.

 

“Say again,” she tells the man calmly.

 

His eyes dart between Xavier and Nicole. “I said, keep your -“

 

_ Face. _

 

Nicole’s fist sends him staggering back before he can finish.

 

The second man starts to walk forward, but stops at the sight of Nicole and Xavier, side by side - arms crossed, faces steeled.

 

“Y’all should leave. I think that’d be best, now.” Nicole’s voice is still calm and quiet.

 

She turns to Xavier as the vehicle drives away, hands on her hips and head quirked sideways.

 

“How many enemies y’all got here?”

  
  


**-**

  
  


Homestead, that’s what they call it - where the Earps live. Homestead land. Behind the house, green hills roll into a near  _ forest _ of trees. There must be acres of land here. 

 

Nicole shields her eyes against the sun, still rising in the direction they’re walking, and as far as she can see, it’s still Earp land. Maples turn into oaks that morph into firs. It’s a beautiful sight, one Nicole could get used to.

 

“There's fencing all around the property. Just… walk about, make sure no one’s sniffin’ around here what shouldn’t be.”

 

Wynonna’s instructions hadn’t been exactly  _ specific _ as she gestured to the massive piece of land before them. But Nicole had the freedom to wander as she pleased. Something about that made her relax a bit, her shoulders resting easy.

 

She’s got her hands in her pockets, fingers tapping idly to a beat in her head when she comes upon clearing.

 

A pathway leads to banks of a swimming hole, surrounded by trees. It looks like a room, like someone carved this out to use just for themselves.

 

A large oak tree is dead center in the line of them. It’s the biggest tree Nicole has ever seen in her life. She wonders how deep its roots go.

 

She walks around the swimming hole and up to the towering tree, slowly, and attempts to wrap her arms around it. They’re not long enough. Nicole has  _ long _ arms, but they still don’t wrap all the way around this tree. She steps back to look up, and she can’t see the sky through the branches and leaves.

 

Suddenly, she’s thinking about all the trees she’s seen in her life. Or, trying to. How come she’s never seen a tree she couldn’t wrap her arms around? There must be big trees everywhere. But for the life of her, Nicole can’t remember any.

 

She presses her palms against the rough bark, takes a deep breath. She can’t explain why, but she leans in and whispers, “I’ll come back.”

  
  


**| those eyes of hers**

  
  


After spending the entire day with the sun beating down on her neck, the first thing Nicole does is walk directly to the kitchen and pour a glass of water over her head, straight into the sink. And thank her stars for running water and two fresh water wells on the Earp property.

 

She thinks she’s alone when she hears something hit the countertop at the other end of the kitchen.

 

She whips around, still dripping wet, and  _ Waverly _ is staring at her.

 

It makes her heart stop. Or jump. Or skip? She doesn’t even know what it’s doing, but it ain’t right.

 

Or it  _ is _ right.

 

Hell, she doesn’t know  _ what’s _ right anymore. Up is down and left is right here on Earp land.

 

Waverly’s got a hand at her neck, like she’s holding in something she’s about to say. Her eyes are wide and fixed on Nicole.

 

_ Shit… _

 

Nicole looks like  _ shit _ and she knows it. She’s probably all covered in dirt, and now she’s dripping wet and it’s soaking her button up shirt, which  _ used _ to be white.

 

_ Shit…  _

 

She pulls the first button loose to air the shirt out. “I’m sorry, I just -” She stops to look for something to dry herself with, turns, and  _ Waverly _ is there, dry rag in hand, holding it out for Nicole to take.

 

_ Waverly _ , who looks like she walked right out of a film.

 

_ Waverly _ , whose hair falls over her shoulder just so, and it makes Nicole think it’s made of magic.

 

_ Waverly _ , who makes her feel like she should turn tail and run from this place, never look back, yet, if she did, she’d regret it for the rest of her life.

 

“Thank you, ma’am,” she manages, her hand reaching for Waverly’s.

 

But Waverly pulls back and sets the rag on the counter beside Nicole.

 

There’s a bite in her tone when she speaks, “Waverly. My name is  _ Waverly _ .”

 

Nicole watches as Waverly’s brows bend and eyes narrow and her heels stomp away. She picks up the rag from the counter and wipes her face.

 

“Waverly,” Nicole whispers to herself.

  
  


**where’d they come from |**

  
  


_ Five days _ .

 

She knows because she’s moved the photo of her mother across the floorboards in her room, one board for each day.

 

She could ask for some paper, but she’s never felt comfortable taking more than she has to. She still wishes she were in that damn barn.

 

There’s a light breeze as she walks about, the leaves dancing to the song of the wind and whistling birds and drifting clouds. Nicole breathes the tune in deep, savoring every note. It’s good, out here in the trees. Peaceful; lonely.

 

It’s somewhere past noon when the wind stills. She feels a shift in the air and the birds are silent.

 

The hairs on her neck stand on end, along with every instinct in her body. She  _ runs _ .

 

Right by the path that leads to her tree, she hears a  **crack** .

 

_ Left _ .

 

Another path. She goes.

 

**Crack** .

 

_ Just ahead _ .

 

Bushes barely hide them. She surveys the scene while she digs a hand in her pocket, removing it with more weight. And she knows, again, she won’t be able to stop herself.

 

Two of them, one with a bat, Xavier - on the ground. Bat  **cracks** over his upper back. Nicole flinches and  _ moves _ .

 

Bat goes up, and brass around her fist hits  _ ribs _ . He drops to his knees. She pulls her arm back for the more momentum, and suddenly she’s staggering to keep her balance, to stand up.

 

Back up, on her feet.

 

_ Can’t see… _

 

Her right eye is done for. There’s his face, one more hit and he falls to the ground.

 

She’s shaking her head, the stars from her eyes, when she turns and the  **crack** slams into her shoulder, or collarbone, somewhere near. Left arm’s done now, too.

 

She can see him now, second man, out of her left eye, bat - ready for more. Xavier twists from his position on the ground, his leg kicks with all its might. Man staggers and Nicole swings wide and hard, one haymaker and he drops not far from his friend.

 

_ Breathe. In, out. In, out. _

 

Nicole sinks next to Xavier. It’s bad, she knows. Bad for both of them. Worse for Xavier.

 

Her energy is drained, but she pulls him by the arm. “Up. Up,” she breathes heavily.

 

Xavier manages to his knees, and Nicole helps him the rest of the way. It seems like she’s pulling him for hours, his weight over her as she helps him walk towards the homestead.

 

As soon as she sees the roof of the house, she calls out as loud as she can, “Help! Doc!  _ Help _ !”

 

Her lungs burn, though, and it hurts to yell. But Xavier’s head is bleeding and he’s fading, they both are, so she keeps going, keeps going.

 

“ _ Help _ !!”

 

Wynonna and Doc round the corner of the house as Nicole starts down the hill toward it. They meet her towards the top, and Nicole falls to the grass. Doc takes Xavier. 

 

It’s fading 

 

          … everything.

 

Voices call for her but they’re  _ m ud dl ed _ , and her head is pounding.  **Black** is taking over, and the voices grow 

 

_           farther _

 

                        and  _ farther _   
  
  
          away.

 

But then,

 

_           Waverly _

 

she bends in front of Nicole, falling to her knees. 

 

Nicole’s face is in her hands. She’s  _ just _ aware of them, brushing over her cheeks, the hair away from eyes. 

 

And Nicole’s good eye  **fixes** on Waverly’s. 

 

They’re wide and she’s saying something that Nicole can’t… can’t make out.

 

“‘Kay,” Nicole mumbles, “‘kay.” And she feels Waverly’s arms around her as everything else fades.

  
  


**| her hand in mine**

  
  


Someone is close to her face. Real close.

 

“It’s broken, have to heal on its own. Collarbone, too. Make sure she keeps it in this.” Strange voice, unfamiliar voice. But kind.

 

Nicole twitches the fingers of her left hand, and knows right away her arm is in a sling.

 

“She’ll be alright?”

 

_ Waverly _ .

 

“Keep an eye on her. I’ll come back, too. But, yes, she’ll be alright.”

 

There’s a deep exhale. “Thank you, Ruthie, thank you so much.”

 

Door opens and closes and her bed dips a little. She can smell the flowers and grass and coffee, and a hand takes her own and she almost jumps.

 

Waverly’s voice is quiet, “You’ll be alright. Be alright…”

 

Nicole never opens her eyes, but she listens to the voice and inhales the sweet scent and marvels at the skin on hers.

 

It’s the most frightening thing she’s ever felt, not wanting to let go of this hand. But she can’t stop  _ wanting _ it.  _ More _ of it.

 

She’s slipping back into sleep, but she moves her thumb along soft skin.

 

_ Still here _ .

 

And she drifts into a deep sleep.

  
  


**-**

  
  


It’s night, it must be. Shadows of trees dance across the wall in what can only be moonlight. But Nicole’s head and face hurt so bad she wonders if it’s a dream.

 

She can hear the voices right outside her room. Her heart beats quick with nerves. Not a dream.

 

“You shouldn’t have dragged her into this.”

 

_ Gus _ .

 

“I didn’t drag anyone. Doc’s the one that picked her up!”

 

_ Wynonna _ .

 

“She can make her own choices.”

 

Nicole swallows hard.  _ Waverly _ . Her hand burns because it’s empty and she wants Waverly’s hand here, but  _ why _ … 

 

It’s quiet for a moment and Waverly speaks again.

 

“She ain’t stupid. Let her decide for her own self.”

 

“She near killed those men. You think Judge is gonna let her walk away after that?”

 

Nicole waits. It’s silent. She closes her eyes and pushes her head farther back into her pillow and wonders when someone is going to tell her what the  _ hell  _ is happening here.

 

The door creaks open and Wynonna steps in. She plays with her fingers nervously at her stomach as she walks towards Nicole’s bedside.

 

Nicole scoots enough to make room for Wynonna to sit. She does, and her back faces Nicole. Her shoulders are slumped and it seems like she’s trying to figure something to say.

 

Finally, she turns, and Nicole can see her face. Her dark brows are drawn close over her eyes, her lips held tight. Nicole drums her fingers on the bed to the beat of  _ one, two _ punches in her mind.

 

“They would’ve killed him,” Wynonna finally breaks the silence, and Nicole is sure she hears her voice tremble. She still doesn’t look Nicole in the eye.

 

Nicole stops the fight playing out in her mind and and stills her fingers on the bed. There’s a weighted pause before she replies, ”I know.” 

 

“Thank you.” Wynonna looks at Nicole and the rims of her eyes are red. She’s still fiddling with her fingers, but they’re shaking now.

 

And even though this was everything she was afraid of, Nicole can’t stop it. She can’t  _ not _ move to this new friend’s need. She wraps her hand around Wynonna’s, and after a few moments, they stop shaking so bad.

  
  


**it fits perfectly |**

  
  


Waverly is staring at her.

 

Nicole opens her eyes, and Waverly is  _ staring _ at her.

 

She stands at her bedside, and now she’s  _ touching _ Nicole, her fingers are running over Nicole’s face, over the side that aches.

 

Nicole’s natural instinct is to retreat, but reactively, she  _ bends _ to the touch. It’s healing, almost. A balm.

 

“You saved his life.”

 

She searches Waverly’s eyes, but all she can see is that they’re studying her own just as hard.

 

Nicole shifts uncomfortably under the attention. Her heart is racing and her head is pounding. She’s suddenly hot under the blankets.

 

Waverly’s eyes, they’re a beautiful shade of deep green, here in the light. They seem to change colors, Nicole has realized.

 

Only  _ normal _ girls have  _ normal _ eyes, Nicole decides. Eyes that don’t change colors. Waverly isn’t normal, not at all.

 

“You could’ve died, both of you.”

 

Something’s pounding in Nicole’s chest and she’s not sure if it’s her heart or pain or Waverly’s eyes on her - making her body  _ burn _ .

 

She doesn’t know how to respond to Waverly’s statement. Because it  _ sounded _ like it hurt her to say it. It  _ looks _ like it pains her to think it.

 

It’s a bad idea, _real_ bad, but she reaches forward, taking Waverly’s hands, and Waverly sinks to the bed next to Nicole.

 

She runs her thumb over the back of Waverly’s hand like that’s what it was made to do, and she can feel the tension in Waverly’s body  _ weaken _ . And Nicole thinks, maybe,  _ maybe _ , if she holds on long enough, the strain across Waverly’s shoulders and in her worried brow will lose its grip entirely.

 

And maybe,  _ maybe _ , it won’t be so bad if she  _ does _ hold on.

  
  


**| this place here**

  
  


“You gonna tell me what the hell’s going on here?” she’d asked Wynonna.

 

Nicole sat up in her bed, playing with a deck of cards while her eye and shoulder mended - under Waverly’s and Ruthie’s insistence that she not do any hard labor.

 

Nicole knew what that meant. It meant if she left the room, she was likely to find another fight, and just get banged up more. This place had more trouble than a wild dog in a chicken coop.

 

It also meant if she left the room, she’d get a stern lecture from Waverly Earp. Which Nicole might swear is more intimidating than a bat swinging straight for her face.

 

Wynonna paced back and forth in Nicole’s room, hitting one fist against an open palm. Her shoulders sagged again and her face knitted in something like deep thought, or worry, or maybe both.

 

“I tend to get paid for my fights. I’ve had more here than I conjured up in one month anyplace else.”

 

Wynonna stopped pacing and looked at Nicole square in the eyes. She continued.

 

“I ain’t  _ afraid  _ of these fights, or backin’ out. Just like to know what I’m fighting for.”

 

Wynonna had sighed and sat down at the edge of Nicole’s bed, bending her fingers backward now.

 

“Once you get fixed up,” Wynonna started, “I’ll let you see for yourself. You don’t like it, you’re free to leave.”

  
  


**-**

  
  


Nicole watches Ruthie Hunter and can’t help but picture Mama, long before she was confined to bed, bustling around a room, wiping her hands on her apron.

 

Ruthie swats Nicole’s leg and orders  _ up _ until Nicole sits up in her bed.

 

She looks directly in Nicole’s right eye, and feels gently with her fingers around the bones. Nicole winces, but stays still.

 

“That was a good thing you did,” Ruthie tells her.

 

“Everyone keeps tellin’ me that,” Nicole says quietly. “Just did what any good person would do.”

 

Ruthie gives her a look, like maybe not every good person  _ would _ do just that.

 

“Those men are dangerous. Not to be trifled with, and most don’t. But you  _ did _ . Says somethin’ about you.”

 

Ruthie must see the question on Nicole’s face. She continues.

 

“Color of that boy’s skin makes him a liability. Folks don’t typically intervene for the likes of him.” Ruthie’s face tells Nicole that she doesn’t want it that way, that she knows just as well as Nicole that skin don’t make a man.

 

“Couple years back, woman named Annabelle gave me a place to sleep. Nice bed, good food. Skin was darker than Xavier's, even, but I’d swear her heart was made of gold. Solid gold.” 

 

Ruthie looks intently at Nicole as she tells her story.

 

“Poison’s inside a man, not on his skin.”

  
  


**-**

  
  


She’s allowed outside her room again.

 

Waverly Earp is a goddamn hardass. And Nicole was right. She'd gotten a yelling-at every time she tried to leave her room for anything other than necessities.

 

Wynonna is sitting across the table from her while she shuffles her deck of cards. Wynonna’s eye is close on the cards, suspicious before the trick had even begun.

 

She pulls a card from the middle of the deck with a flourish and reveals it to Wynonna.

 

“This your card?” 

 

Wynonna’s bite of toast falls right out of her mouth. She stares wide-eyed at the card in Nicole’s hand for a good minute before replying.

 

“Well fuck. What the hell’d you do?”

 

Nicole shrugs simply and stacks the cards again. “Magic.”

 

“Uh-uh,” Wynonna says, grabbing the deck from Nicole’s hand. She rifles through the cards, checking for any hint of cheating.

 

Waverly is watching them, Nicole can see her out of the corner of her good eye. She’s leaning against the countertop, sipping from a cup. There’s a gentle smile lighting her face, and it’s the most at ease Nicole has seen her.

 

It gets Nicole thinking, and it might just be the first time she’s seen Waverly  _ smile _ . It’s a lovely smile, like the sunset and all its colors.

 

Wynonna’s fingers are snapping in her face and Nicole sees Waverly stifle a laugh before she turns her attention back to Wynonna.

 

“Do it again. Do that again.”

 

Nicole clicks her tongue. “Can’t. I can do a different one, though.”

 

Wynonna gives Nicole a hard glare, bites into her toast, crumbs falling down. “ _ Horse _ shit.”

  
  


**it’s nothin’ but trouble |**

  
  


She dances with Waverly in her dreams. Arms wrapped tight around the small waist, breathing deep the sweet smell of the angel, the lion.  _ Waverly _ .

 

But Waverly runs away, and something is shaking her, shaking Nicole awake.

 

Wynonna.

 

“Still wanna know what you’re fighting for?”

 

Nicole follows Wynonna down the hall, jumping into her trousers as she’s walking.

 

Wynonna turns; she’s got Nicole’s boots in her hands and she smacks Nicole square in the chest. “Hey, hush up! Get us in  _ trouble _ …” her voice trails off as she walks away.

 

Nicole calculates in her mind what that means. Most likely it’s that neither Gus  _ nor _ Waverly are a part of whatever is about to happen. She curses herself for the trouble she’s going to get into with the both of them, but figures it’s better for Wynonna if she’s there, with her.

 

Because even though it’s the middle of the night, Nicole can smell the liquor on Wynonna’s breath.

 

No matter what time of the day, she can smell liquor on Wynonna.

 

It shouldn’t feel heavy on Nicole’s shoulders, but it does.  _ Too _ heavy.

 

They’re in the car, same one that brought Nicole here in the first place, with Doc. His knuckles are white around the steering wheel. Wynonna  _ whoop _ s from the back seat.

 

“We ain’t looking to bring a fight. But what happened with Xavier - and yourself - cannot stand,” Doc says, slow and calm.

 

Wynonna leans over the front seat between Nicole and Doc; she smacks Nicole’s shoulder.

 

“Earps don’t lay down for nobody,  _ nobody _ . Some folks gotta be reminded...”

 

They pull up around the side of a building, Ghost River County Courthouse, and wait. Nicole’s nervous because she knows that the Sheriff's house is right behind the courthouse.

 

There’s a door, but nobody comes out. Nicole drums her fingers on her knee.

 

 _One, two. One, two._ _Left. Left, right._

 

Wynonna is groaning and fidgeting in the back. She kicks Nicole’s seat more than once.

 

A man comes out the back door, alone. Light from two lamps on the wall barely illuminate, but Nicole recognizes him. She knows the figure.

 

_ Jonas _ .

 

“Here we go,” Wynonna whispers, but doesn’t move.

 

He steps outside, knocks twice on the door, and another man exits the building. He’s followed by more. It looks like a bonafide mob, the kind with suits and tommy guns and spets. Nicole’s never seen one in person, only heard of them.

 

Three of the men are armed, from what it looks like. Though they could have more hidden.

 

As far as she can tell, the short man, the man who came out right after Jonas, is the boss here. He’s wearing the fanciest suit, a black fedora, and his thumbs rest easy in his suspenders. His shoulders are broad, and even though he’s not real big, he holds his head high and looks down his nose, lips curled.

 

Doc cranes back to Wynonna. “Ready?”

 

Wynonna just scoffs in reply and opens her door. Nicole looks to Doc and he shrugs, opening his, stepping out of the vehicle. Nicole can’t see this ending well, but she follows suit.

 

As they step up, just a few paces from the man in the fedora, Nicole takes in each potential opponent, recognizing a few.

 

_ Small, favors his left. Medium build, timid. Big, eyepatch, slow. Jonas, face is still healing. Wild dog face, medium but strong. Bald, chubby, bad right shoulder. Thin, strange voice, maybe quick. _

 

Doc’s got two pistols on him, though she suspects that he thinks nobody knows about them, as they’re not in plain sight. Wynonna’s got something in her boot, most likely a knife, and a gun inside her left coat pocket. Nicole shoved her brass knuckles in her pocket before she tripped out of her room.

 

Whatever happens, they’re outnumbered.

 

“Wynonna Earp,” the man in the center tips his fancy fedora, “see you brought your new  _ dog _ .” 

 

_ Only goddamn animal folks know around here is a dog _ … 

 

He runs his tongue across the front of his top teeth and spits in the space between them. “Think you might need to keep her on a rope.”

 

Nicole just grits her teeth and waits, hands stuffed in her pockets.

 

Wynonna stares at the spit on the ground for a moment and then turns her attention to Jonas. “How’s that face a’ yours?” Her expression is blank, and Nicole knows she doesn’t care a lick how his face is. Back to the center man. “ _ Judge _ . You stay off my land, my  _ dogs _ won’t be a problem.”

 

_ Judge… _

 

Judge tips his head, puckers his lips, and steps forward, once, twice. Nicole’s fingers slip into the knuckles, but stay in her pocket.

 

He lowers his voice. “Now, you know I can’t very well do that.” He licks his lips, long and slow while his eyes rake over Wynonna, and Nicole’s blood boils hotter. “We  _ can _ come to some sort of agreement, seeing as how I am a gentleman. I’m willing to …  _ forgive  _ these past offenses.”

 

He smells like whiskey and sweat and a sort of expensive scent Nicole’s seen in drugstores. Only she suspects this one didn’t come from a place like a drugstore.

 

Wynonna sighs and folds her arms across her chest. She gathers a whole wad of spit in her throat, quite a noise, and spits not an inch from Judge’s shining shoes. “I’m an Earp. There won’t be an agreement. You ain’t gettin’  _ shit _ from us.”

 

Summer cicadas buzz louder around them, it seems, the only noise in the heavy silence. 

 

Judge thinks a moment, looks back at his boys, all looking like hounds at their master’s beck and call.

 

“I believe you are underestimating the lengths to which I will go, Ms.  _ Earp _ .”

 

Suddenly, his eyes turn  _ hollow _ .  _ Hollow _ eyes for an  _ empty _ heart that will do anything for gain. His shoulders pull back, tight. And Nicole knows that he’s got a piece somewhere on his body.

 

Nicole steps up, next to Wynonna. Judge pulls the gun from inside his right coat pocket. Standard size Colt, all black.

 

Doc steps forward, his hands up in way of keeping peace. “We didn’t come here for that, now.”

 

Nicole steadies herself. Best to go for  _ Wild Dog Face _ first - if she doesn’t end up with a bullet in her.

 

Judge turns the gun over, inspecting it. “I need you to believe me when I say - I will do  _ everything  _ in my power. I will not stop until your business is  _ mine _ .”

 

Everything slows except for the buzzing in the air as Judge cocks the piece, turns to his side, and puts a hole in the temple of a man. 

 

_ Small, favors his left. _

 

And then times shifts. From too slow to too fast.

 

_ Medium But Timid _ is shouting,  _ Small Man _ is bleeding out, stilled on the ground. Nicole’s breath stops, and she hears a muted shouting:  _ Levi _ ! 

 

_ Levi. _

 

_       Levi… _

 

**Levi** .

 

It rings in her ears over...

 

                 and over...

 

          and 

 

_  over _ .  
  
  


_ Eyepatch _ has a hold on  _ Timid _ , he’s got his arms tight around his chest. “Fish!  _ Stop _ !”

 

Judge waves his hand to them. “Take him inside.”

 

Wynonna looks like she’s the one with the blood draining out of her body. Then she looks at Judge. Her face shifts, hardens.

 

“I swear on that man’s life, you will not live to see the end of this.”

 

Wynonna turns heel, shoving Nicole with her shoulder. Nicole and Doc take one last look at the man on the ground. Doc removes his hat. They drive away from the pooling blood, but it follows them all the way, all the way back.

  
  
  


**| it follows**

  
  


As the car pulls into the long road to the homestead, Nicole can see Waverly on the porch, shining in the headlights of the car.

 

Wynonna and Nicole climb out, and Doc drives away. None speak a word. No words to speak.

 

Waverly descends the steps, and here it is... Nicole knows they’ll pay for this. Even though they’re already paying for it. They might be paying for it for years to come.

 

The blood will follow them, follow them,  _ follow them _ .

 

Waverly must see something, a bit of the haunting, because her face goes from about ready to blow, to looking like she might wrap her arms around them both.

 

Wynonna doesn’t look Waverly in the eyes. Not at first. She stands a pace away, staring at nothing before she meets Waverly’s gaze.

 

Waverly brings her hand to Wynonna’s face. It’s soft and they’re silent, but Nicole sees more than words could speak. Wynonna stomps up the steps, presumably to Xavier.

 

Waverly looks at Nicole next. Nicole wants to bury her face in Waverly’s neck and sob, or run away, or go back and cry over the body of the man who was  _ alive _ not hours ago.

 

_ Levi _ .

 

But she just  _ stands _ , feet stuck in the dirt. Mind stuck in the blood.

 

Waverly moves toward her, she thinks. She can’t really tell, her mind is underwater and she’s running out of breath.

 

Arms wrap around Nicole, and she  _ falls _ .

 

She’s in the dirt and grasping at the fabric of Waverly’s clothes and barely breathing into them, her eyes are wet and her lungs  _ gasp _ . Hands cradle her head, pulling her closer and  _ closer _ .

 

_ Shh _ , she hears,  _ I have you _ , whispers in her ears course deep into her soul and breathe air into her lungs.

 

She’s not sure how long they stay like that. How long she cries in Waverly’s arms, there in the dirt beneath the black sky. But Waverly picks her up, she makes Nicole hold her tight as they walk back inside, back to Nicole’s room.

 

Nicole feels herself collapse on her bed.

 

Waverly disappears and returns with a glass. Water. Nicole takes a sip and shoves it away.

 

She can feel her throat holding back more grief when she opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out, not a sound.

 

Nicole’s been everywhere, nearly. She’s spilled blood in fights. She’s earned money slamming her fists into strangers’ stomachs. She’s walked away without a drop of guilt, because it’s what she does. It’s what all fighters do.

 

But never in her 26 years has she ever seen a person shot, life stolen right before her eyes.

 

Waverly gives her something in a fancy teacup. Nicole drinks, and it’s bitter. Waverly sets the cup on the bedside table and climbs in the bed next to Nicole, and she can’t help it, she’s falling into Waverly’s lap.

 

She sleeps.

  
  


**-**

  
  


She dreams of  _ Waverly _ .

 

Nicole stumbles up the steps with bloodied hands, and Waverly drops to her knees, cradling Nicole’s face.

 

“What happened? Tell me what happened.”

 

“He -- I tried, we tried, it wasn’t -- wasn’t his fault,” Nicole’s voice is broken and fragile and Waverly looks down at her hands.

 

“What did you do?”

 

Nicole stares into hazel eyes, and they’re deeper than the night sky. “Nothing.  _ Nothing _ ,” she whispers.

 

Waverly drops her hands and Nicole wakes with a gasp.

 

_ Waverly _ . She’s there.  _ Real _ . Nicole’s resting in her lap, her fingers run through Nicole’s hair, twisting the ends of the short locks. Another hand strokes her forehead.

 

“Shh,” Waverly soothes her, “you’re back, you’re home, you’re alright.” Her voice is quiet, warm.

 

But Nicole’s chest tightens and fights and protests.   
  
“ _ Home _ .”

 

_ No. No, it’s not. _

 

“Wynonna,” Nicole lifts herself, pushing up with her elbows.

 

“She’s okay, she’s asleep.”

 

“She told us what happened,” Gus’s voice comes from across the room, sitting in a chair. She’s leaning forward, elbows on knees, brows bent in, wearing that too-big coat with the sleeves rolled up.

 

“I suppose it’s time you know what’s goin’ on here.”

  
  


**-**

  
  


She feels like a fool for not seeing it.

 

_ Moonshine _ .

 

“This here’s moonshine country,” Gus said. “Judge wants what we got, simple as that.”

 

They make  _ moonshine _ .

 

And Judge, Judge Cryderman, wants it - all of it.

 

Because a judge has power and money, but a judge  _ doesn’t _ have the love of townsfolk. And that is something the Earps have in spades.

 

“He’s been after it since he got here, ‘bout five years ago,” Gus explained.

 

Crickets chirp outside the kitchen window and Nicole sits at the table, alone. It’s dark outside again. And she’s not sure she wants to go to bed. To sleep. To  _ dream _ .

 

Ten years walking the earth by herself, seeing all manner of things, moving to the next place and leaving everything behind.

 

But somehow Nicole knows she won’t be able to walk away from this one. This place. That face laying in the dirt. It will follow her, always  _ follow _ .

 

She knows she doesn’t have the strength in her to leave it - to walk away from that face and do nothing about it. To leave the Earps and Doc and Gus and Xavier here to fight a man who would do a thing like that.

 

To leave  _ Waverly _ … 

 

And that notion is downright paralyzing. One irreversible turn of the mind, and she realizes this place, these people, can break her.  _ All _ of her.

 

“Can’t sleep?”

 

Nicole looks up from her clenched fists resting on the table, and Waverly is in the doorway.

 

She makes a face that belies her thoughts and shrugs simply.

 

Waverly takes the seat next to her, at the corner, so they’re close but still facing each other. Her hand covers one of Nicole’s fists, a thumb rubs softly against the back, coaxing it to release, relax. She thinks of the way Waverly’s shoulders relaxed when she did just this same thing, and that, paired with the feeling of Waverly’s skin against hers, and she can breathe easier, her muscles  _ ease _ .

 

“Don’t really want to,” Nicole says, a quiet admission. Though, she’s not sure why she does.

 

Waverly weaves her hand into Nicole’s so she’s holding it properly. It’s a damn suckerpunch to her belly.

 

“I used to have nightmares. Gus would read to me, I’d fall asleep, dream of her stories.” There’s a pause and Waverly takes a breath like she’s preparing herself to speak again. “I could… I could do that. Might help.”

 

Her voice is so quiet and unsure and Nicole wants to smooth the worried creases in her forehead with her thumb, but she’s just as unsure herself.

 

“You’d… you’d do that?”

 

Waverly looks at her like maybe that’s all she  _ wants _ to do, she squeezes her hand and Nicole’s heart tightens in turn. There’s a fluttering in her stomach. Like when she danced with the lady in pearls, but it’s so much stronger and so much more lovely. It’s a feeling that won’t go away when Waverly takes her hand from her own, Nicole knows. It’s a feeling that she wants there, as long as she’s got breath in her body.

  
  


Nicole falls asleep to Waverly’s voice. And she dreams of beautiful, mighty angels.

  
  
  


**| it follows…**

 

 

 


	2. A Moment's Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are we friends?” Waverly glares at Nicole, in a decidedly _unfriendly_ manner.
> 
> “I… I like to think,” Nicole stumbles over words, “I believe so.”
> 
> “Then why the _hell_ do you keep callin’ me _ma’am_?” Waverly’s face is hard and unflinching. “I have a _name_.”
> 
> Nicole freezes, inside and out. Because the only answer she can think of is: _because you scare all hell out of me._
> 
> _Because I don’t think ‘friends’ is the right word for this feeling. But I ain’t entirely sure._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all... it's been a long three months. My house is empty and about to get demo'd and I have just been STRESSED.
> 
> So. Thank you. Thank you for your kind words and your patience. I love this story. Despite the delay, I love it so goddamn much. That and your INCREDIBLE comments (no joke, I put them in a note in my phone and look at them when I'm feeling down about this) got me through this slump of "WHAT THE HELL DO I DO WITH THIS?!!!!"
> 
> (answer - take out the unnecessary scene and everything else falls into place)
> 
> Thank you to sensitive pigeon and flyingfanatic for yelling at and with me to continue working and just encouraging me in general. I appreciate you more than you know.
> 
> Thank you to the INCREDIBLE, MARVELOUS Smurf. Tireless in her care to detail and supporting me in getting every single last thing right.
> 
> Shout out to my puppy because she'll always get one of those. LOVE YOU MY SWEET SMOOSHY BABY.
> 
> Aaaaand please keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times as we travel through the world of "Nicole Haught has no fucking clue what is happening." Thank you for choosing haughpocket theme park.
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter title: song from The Devil Makes Three

 

 

 

**two**

  
  
  


**| fleeting peace |**

 

Waverly’s face is the first thing she sees when she opens her eyes. She’s still sleeping, facing Nicole. 

 

There’s a brief moment of the peace. The fullest and most complete Nicole has ever felt, that she can remember. Sunlight filters through curtains and dances across the honey brown hair.

 

She lifts a hand to tuck some of it behind an ear when she stops.

 

_ Shit. _

 

Nicole panics until she remembers exactly how they got here - sleeping next to each other.

 

Her heart slows again, but only for a moment. Because she’s lying next to Waverly Earp.

 

Who looks like a real heaven-on-earth angel, right here in her bed. Smelling like flowers and glowing like the word beauty itself.

 

The fluttering in Nicole’s chest turns to an  _ ache _ . One she can’t physically handle. She looks at Waverly again, and something  _ pounds  _ in her chest.

 

_ Shit _ .

 

She snuck out with next to no sound, and she’s eating her breakfast alone. She feels awful, for leaving Waverly there like that, not waking her. But she’d felt awful laying there next to her.

 

_ What the hell is going on… _

 

Nicole is halfway finished when Waverly enters the kitchen. 

 

She fills a plate and sits across from Nicole.

 

She lifts her cup to her mouth, takes a sip of coffee, never looking away from Nicole.

 

“How’d you sleep?” Waverly’s voice is calm.  _ Too _ calm. Like she’s asking  _ why  _ Nicole  _ isn’t _ calm,  _ wasn’t  _ calm this morning when she just  _ left _ .

 

Nicole almost chokes on her eggs.

 

Because last night was the most peaceful sleep she’s had in years. And it feels like Waverly can see right through her skull and knows it.

 

Knows that Nicole woke up with a feeling in her stomach and lungs and heart. Knows that Nicole doesn’t know what the hell that feeling is. Knows that it terrifies her…

 

Nicole doesn’t finish her breakfast. She picks up her coffee, and mumbles before taking a sip, “Alright.”

 

She walks quickly out the kitchen door, feeling Waverly’s eyes follow her the whole damn time.

  
  


**| it follows**

  
  


                                        “ _ Home… _ ”

 

     “ _ It’s alright, you’re safe, you’re home _ .”

 

                                 “ _ Levi _ !”                                          “ _ Fish, stop! _ ”

 

                  “ _ Sleep, Nicole. Hush. Sleep. _ ”

 

                                                  “ _ Can’t… he just… I can’t. _ ”

**-**

 

No longer in Waverly’s arms. In her embrace. In her comfort. Blood spills in her dreams. Mighty angels flee.

 

The feeling of safety is a passing thing.

 

**-**

 

That night lingers in Nicole’s mind, in her dreams, her bones, her muscles. Her tears that spill only into her pillow when the moon hangs alongside the stars.

 

Things have quieted since then. Like that one instance was a hiccup in the way the cogs of Purgatory work.

 

Time moves slow here. Real slow.

 

It’s as if when Nicole crossed over that Ghost River line, all her bones and muscles unattached and now they move through space separately, getting to their final destination with far less momentum.

 

She climbs hills to the land of trees every day, and her body moves at a glacial pace. But the sun moves with her, not a hurry or care in the world.

 

She wraps her arms around her big oak, and her chest fills up with an unidentified feeling. She’s still trying to figure out just what that feeling is. But it’s calm, like the rhythm of the days.

 

She can  _ feel _ the difference.

 

**-**

 

As slow as time moves, Waverly never stops moving.

 

Like she’s making up for the pace of the little town.

 

Nicole will have just finished eating an apple, and Waverly has already swept the floors, cleaned Nicole’s breakfast dishes (much to Nicole’s protest), and made herself a fresh cup of coffee. Nicole watches in fascination. Wonders what it will take for Waverly to sit down, be still.

 

Nicole is on the front porch reading an old paper clipping about Amelia Earhart when there’s a  **creak** and a  **crack** behind her. She twirls, and Waverly has a chair in one hand, a tool box in the other.

 

“Everything alright?” Nicole tucks the paper into her pocket.

 

Waverly steps on the chair, and suddenly she’s as tall as Nicole’s always seen her to be. Towering over everyone with her spirit alone.

 

“Just a leak. Been meanin’ to fix it for a while now.”

 

“I can do that.”

 

Waverly doesn’t move. She just holds her gaze. Finally she replies, “So can I.”

 

Nicole is silent. She rocks on the heels of her boots, carefully choosing words.

 

“I work here now, ma’am.”

 

Waverly doesn’t look at Nicole as she scoffs. “I know that.”

 

“So… I can do that for you, if you’d like.”

 

Waverly steps down from the chair. Nicole feels herself shrink. Waverly steps close, too close. Nicole holds her breath.

 

She pushes the toolbox into Nicole’s chest with a  _ thud _ , holding it there, eyes fixed on Nicole’s.

 

“ _ Waverly _ .”

 

**-**

 

Doc and Waverly brought  _ chickens _ back with them.

 

A trip to town for some things for Gus turned into some fiasco, Doc says. Bobo Del Rey, the local barber, got a whole box full of baby chicks from one of his most faithful customers. And Bobo Del Rey is  _ not _ a farmer. So he shoved the box into Waverly’s arms when he saw her passing by, told her he knew they couldn’t be in better hands.

 

And now Nicole, Doc, and Dolls are building a coop for them. Fifteen little balls of fluff, chirping like it’ll set them free.

 

The back porch door slams shut, and Waverly is walking towards them, three big glasses in her arms.

 

She stops at Dolls first. A big smile, friendly words. Then Doc, same for him, too.

 

The smile drops from her face when Waverly stands in front of Nicole.

 

“Here. Thought y’all might be thirsty.” Her voice is clipped and Nicole’s not sure how to fix that, how to get the friendly, warm voice back.

 

“Thank you, mighty appreciated.” Nicole takes a drink to show how much she really does appreciate it, because it’s damn hot and she’s full of sweat and dust from the wood.

 

The sour look on Waverly’s face never leaves, but her lips twist and she swallows, like she’s thinking hard on something.

 

Nicole runs her hand through her hair, sweeping it to the back and out of her face. She wipes her brow with the back of her hand. She always seems to look like a mess in front of Waverly Earp…

 

But when she does that, the expression on Waverly’s face  _ drops _ like a ton of rocks.

 

“I’m… Gus needs help inside,” Waverly says shortly.

 

Nicole nods. “‘Course. Thank you again.” She holds the glass up and attempts a smile, as big as she can make it, despite how much Waverly seems to loathe her in this moment.

 

Waverly nearly trips over some lumber before she turns around and walks quickly back to the house.

 

**-**

 

Nicole dreams. Stars pass overhead in a bright fury.

 

In her mind.

 

In the sky.

 

In Wynonna’s eyes, filled with tears. 

 

In Waverly’s eyes, filled with some kind of hope Nicole has never known.

 

But now when those eyes fall on her, they’re filled with something else.

 

Nicole can’t help but feel that she’s been a disappointment in Waverly Earp’s life.

 

**| a good man |**

 

“Don’t squeeze!”

 

“It’s nice and firm, feel here now.”

 

“Hm… Needs more time, ain’t ready yet.”

 

Nicole watches Gus, Wynonna, and Waverly huddle around a tomato plant, discussing each and every individual tomato.

 

There are about fifteen smaller plants, give or take, in neat lines. But they only fuss over the one, bigger than all the rest, more like a small tree.

 

They do this every day, and they always have something new to say about it. It takes them at least an hour.

 

Every day.

 

Xavier walks up behind Nicole as she bites her toast and sits next to her on the porch steps.

 

“They always done that?” Nicole looks to the gaggle of women fussing over the singular plant.

 

Xavier laughs, small but low. “Those’re Curtis’s tomatoes, there.”

 

Nicole pauses, watches Gus. She’s still wearing that big coat with the rolled up sleeves.

 

“Gus’s husband.”

 

“Mm-hm. Last one he planted. They done kept that thing growin’ for six years now.”

 

Another pause.

 

“What was he like - Curtis?”

 

Xavier’s face drops a bit, a sad change. “You know what the first thing he says to me was?”

 

Nicole shakes her head and waits. He’s sober, like this speech is one he doesn’t repeat often. But when he does, it’s important.

 

“Girls come to live with them not long before that. Wynonna and me, we, well - we been friendly for about a year or so. Wynonna’s real worried about them, what they’ll be thinkin’ of their niece with a colored boy.”

 

Xavier half-chuckles to himself, rubbing his hand over his beard. Nicole can see the red around his eyes.

 

“When she finally works up the gumption to tell him, Curtis - he gets real quiet. Then he grabs me, hugs me, says ‘Welcome to the family, boy!’”

 

Xavier almost laughs again, but he gets real quiet instead, watches the Earp women fussing over the tomatoes. An unbidden thought, a desire to have met the man that was Curtis McCready, enters Nicole’s mind.

 

Unbidden as it is, Nicole wonders if it’s not such a bad thing to want.

 

**| a solitary life |**

 

Soon enough, trips to town with Doc become a regular occurrence. 

 

One of her very first trips is to see a woman by the name of Constance Clootie. Though, technically, she’s not quite  _ in _ town. She’s on the other side of it.

 

Fresh air is blowing in her face as they drive down the dirt road. 

 

Doc turns on to Locust, driving toward Main. They pass Bobo’s Barber Shop, Purgatory General Store, the shops that Nicole is starting to know by heart. West on Main, north on Maple. They’re farther north than Nicole’s been yet. Buildings and people disappear, the free land takes over.

 

They pass through a grove of withering trees, and Nicole sees a large home, made entirely of stone. It’s different from every other home, every other  _ building  _ she’s seen here in Purgatory. It looks old, out of an ancient story. Moss and vines are growing over the front of the house.

 

Doc takes one case of moonshine and Nicole takes the second, and they walk to the door.

 

The door creaks open and wide eyes peak out.

 

“Miss Clootie, got your spirits here,” Doc greets her.

 

She opens the door fully, and Nicole is a bit taken by surprise.

 

She’s frazzled, to say the least, Miss Clootie. Her hair is a bird’s nest, and she pokes at it nervously with her fingers.

 

“In here, quick now,” she mutters, “don’t let them in,” she adds. Nicole turns, looking for “them.” There’s no one.

 

Doc sets the liquor on a table and Nicole does the same.

 

“Doc,” Clootie says fondly. She walks towards him in what Nicole can only guess is supposed to be a seductive manner. She gasps and slaps her open palms on Doc’s chest. “Bartholomew! You haven’t met Bartholomew…”

 

“ _ Bartholomew… _ ?” Clootie’s back is turned, and Nicole stares at Doc, mouthing the name to him.

 

He holds his hands out in a “don’t ask me” fashion with a twisted look on his face. Apparently, he’s just as confused. Either that, or he ain’t telling what he knows.

 

Just as Nicole turns to look where Clootie had disappeared to, she nearly jumps right out of her skin.

 

Because there’s Constance Clootie, staring right at her, with a  _ squirrel _ sitting on her shoulder.

 

Nicole just gapes like an idiot, she knows it. But there’s a  _ squirrel _ on the woman’s shoulder, and that ain’t even the strangest thing.

 

The squirrel’s tail is  _ green _ .

 

She doesn’t even realize she’s clutching at her chest, holding her racing heart, until Clootie points to the animal.

 

“Bartholomew.”

 

Nicole nods. “He - hello there,” she takes a long pause, ” _ Bartholomew _ .”

 

“Odessa got real lonely, after…” Clootie’s voice trails and her face grows forlorn.

 

“I was very sorry to hear about Thomas, Miss Clootie,” Doc says, his hat at his chest.

 

Her fingers tease her mangled hair some more, and she sighs dramatically. “Yes, well, nothin’ done’ for the old witch. Watch ‘em die, no one comes. Gotta bury ‘em all myself, huh…”

 

Nicole looks to Doc for a translation, but he gives none.

 

“Well, Miss Clootie, we must be leaving now. I trust we shall see you again soon?”

 

“Always goin’, always leavin’,” Clootie mumbles.

 

Doc just nods, and Nicole follows him out the door.

 

Nicole turns back once. The forlorn woman is in the doorway, watching them leave, green squirrel on her shoulder.

 

_ It must take a hell of a lonely person to color a squirrel's tail green, _ Nicole thinks to herself.

  
  


**| these ghosts**

 

Nicole’s finally got herself a punching bag.

 

She’d convinced Gus to let her hang it in the barn. She’s there to fight, just like any other job. So she needs to train, just like any other job.

 

Nicole explained it to Gus. Waverly was in the room. She just looked at Nicole with one of those unreadable expressions, fists held tight.

 

Nicole is leaning into the bag, delivering sets of punches that her arms could throw in her sleep by now.

 

She thinks of wicked faces and poisonous hearts, and hits harder, faster.

 

_ One, two. One, two. _

 

_ OneTwo _

 

_ OneTwo _

 

_ OneTwo … OneTwo … OneTwoOneTwoThree _

 

_ Stop. _

 

_ Breathe _ .

 

She turns, feels eyes watching her. Her chest falls heavy -  _ up, down, up, down _ . Wynonna is in the doorway, watching.

 

Bottle in hand.

 

She stares at Nicole and the devil’s at her heels. Wynonna’s barely running fast enough.

 

It’s  _ following _

 

_ following… _

 

__ **_following._ **

 

Wynonna’s silent at first, then gestures widely to the bag. “Hope it deserved that.”

 

Nicole shakes her head, removes her gloves. Her knuckles are a deep red.

 

“See a ghost in there?” Wynonna drinks from the bottle.

 

Nicole wipes at the sweat dripping from her nose, sniffs. “Ghosts everywhere here.” She looks at Wynonna and their eyes lock. “Close my eyes,” she swallows hard, “just see that face.”

 

Wynonna doesn’t move. She doesn’t reply for at least a minute, but it feels longer. Slower, like the time in Purgatory, but much more painful right at this moment.

 

“Yeah, well, that don’t stop.” Another drink.

 

But she doesn’t offer it to Nicole, and for that, Nicole is grateful.

 

**-**

 

Doc’s been teaching Nicole all about the inner workings of the vehicles. He says one day, he might teach her to drive it.

 

But first, she has to learn how it runs.

 

So she checks the belts and tunes the engine and changes the oil, all at Doc’s request. Anything to get behind the wheel someday.

 

Doc helps her out from under the car, and she’s attempting to brush the dirt from her clothes when Waverly practically flows out the front door, pretty floral dress drifting with the light breeze, long hair twisted and pulled over one shoulder.

 

And she stops, stands stalk still, and just  _ stares _ at Nicole.

 

Nicole flushes, thoroughly embarrassed, because she’s covered in grease and oil, and her shirt is torn off at the sleeves for dirty work like this.

 

She reaches for a rag, which Doc promptly steals and holds out of reach on the other side of the car.

 

Nicole frowns, swearing revenge. She rubs the back of her neck, waves meekly, and watches Waverly go to the back of the house.

 

Where there’s a back door for that exact purpose.

 

She can hear her, Waverly tending to the chickens, singing a song.

 

“ _ For nobody else gave me a thrill _ …”

 

A chill runs up and down Nicole’s spine. Waverly’s voice is  _ enchanting _ , it’s  _ magic _ . Just like the rest of her.

 

“ _ With all your faults, I love you still _ …  _ It had to be you, wonderful you _ .”

 

Something hits her in the face, and Nicole realizes she’s been staring off in Waverly’s direction for some time now. She wipes her face with the rag, and Doc just rolls his eyes.

 

“I ask you something?” Nicole leans over the hood of the car after Doc closes it.

 

“Anything at all, Jack.”

 

Nicole glances sideways, still confused by that nickname. “You know why she’s so upset?”

 

Doc sighs like that’s a  _ tough _ question, turns and leans against the car, tips his hat a little lower over his forehead, shielding his eyes from the sun.

 

“Waverly Earp is a curious creature. Kindest soul there is, but hell with a shotgun if she’s got reason to be.”

 

Nicole feels herself deflate because none of this is helping, at all.

 

“If she is upset, it is because someone has made her so.”

 

And then it hits her like sack of bricks.

 

Waverly asked if she could read to her, to help her, and Nicole said “Yes.”

 

And Nicole  _ slept _ , she slept beside Waverly Earp peaceful and with dreams free of blood, and the next morning, she’d  _ fled _ .

 

Fled like Waverly Earp was a person to run away from. And that’s the  _ last _ thing she is.

  
  


**they follow us |**

 

She can’t sleep.

 

She’s been staring at the ceiling for at least  _ ten _ hours. It must be. It sure as hell feels like ten hours to Nicole.

 

She’s humming Waverly’s song when she hearts footsteps and clanking glass.

 

Slowly, Nicole steps out of bed, takes the brass knuckles from where they sit on her bedside table, and she slips out the door.

 

“ _ Goddamn… _ ”

 

It’s just a quiet muttering coming from the kitchen, but Nicole knows right away that it’s Wynonna.

 

She makes sure that the door squeaks when she opens it, and Wynonna whirls around from the cabinet she’s digging around in, nods her head in Nicole’s direction.

 

She digs around some more and faces Nicole again. “Hey, I’m’a - I’m gonna take a drive. Y’should come with.” She swings a bottle in Nicole’s direction.

 

Nicole leans against a countertop, arms crossed, pain in the pit of her stomach. Wynonna rifles through the cupboard some more.

 

“Ahh.  _ Shit _ .” Wynonna spits to her side on the ground.

 

“Wynonna…” Nicole starts.

 

“Uh-uh,” Wynonna interupts her, stomping right up with a finger in Nicole’s face. “Don’t you talk to me.”

 

Wynonna’s face flinches in pain. Almost the same look on her face as when Judge…

 

_    It’s following  _

_    and she can’t run fast enough. _

 

It’s deeper now, seeped into her bones and her veins, fed and watered with alcohol and time, not even very much of it. Doesn’t take much. 

 

It’s following her.

 

Blood is there in her eyes and the tears that run down her face and turned lip, quivering, trying  _ desperately _ not to break.

 

Nicole wipes the tear from her own face and looks to the floor for some guidance, words of wisdom. There aren’t any, so she just tells the truth.

 

“I dream about it, every night.”

 

Wynonna slaps her face,  _ hard _ . Nicole  _ reacts _ .

 

_ Wrists _ .

 

She grabs them both and twirls Wynonna by them, in such a way that Wynonna’s back is against Nicole’s chest now, her arms crossed and held by Nicole’s hands.

 

“God _ damnit _ , Wynonna!” Nicole breathes hard and holds in her sob with every bit of strength. Wynonna fights against her, but Nicole grips harder.

 

Suddenly there’s light and Nicole realizes they’re not alone anymore.

 

Gus, Xavier, and Waverly stand in the doorway.

 

Nicole holds tight, still, while Xavier approaches slowly.

 

“Hey, now,” he says, just to Wynonna. His face is drawn in pain, and he reaches for her. Nicole finally loosens her grip, and Wynonna goes limp right as Xavier falls to catch her. Nicole can hear the sobs coming from his shoulder as he pulls her close, running a hand through her long, ever-untamed hair.

 

“Got you, got you, ‘right?” Xavier whispers.

 

When Nicole looks up to Gus for direction, Waverly is next to her. She runs a hand down Nicole’s back and loops it through her arm, guiding Nicole out of the kitchen, back to her room, leaving Xavier and Wynonna on the floor.

 

“She gonna be -” Nicole turns her head back as they walk away.

 

“Xavier’s got her,” Waverly says.

 

Waverly stops Nicole at her door and takes her hand, holding it like it’s a lifeline.

 

Waverly hasn’t held her hand like this since Nicole lay in her bed, beat up and bandaged. Like maybe if she holds on tight enough, Nicole will be  _ better _ , she’ll  _ heal _ . 

 

“Nicole,” Waverly squeezes her hand, looks at her with big eyes, too soft. “Are  _ you _ alright?”

 

Nicole rubs her right eye with the palm of her free hand, but Waverly takes that one, too.

 

“That’s your bad eye, you’ll mess it up again.”

 

Not sure what else to do, Nicole meets Waverly’s gaze. “‘I’m okay.”

 

She lies.

 

Waverly drops her hand and takes hold of her face. “You don’t have to be.”

 

Nicole nods her head, shaking Waverly’s hands loose. All the time she spends thinking about simply touching Waverly, and now it’s happening again, but Nicole can’t seem to take it.

 

And that  _ hurts, _ because she knows, above everything else, she just wants Waverly  _ closer _ .

 

She regrets her next words as soon as she says them.

 

“Night, ma’am.”

 

**| you are to me**

 

Waverly is scrubbing a plate when Nicole pushes the kitchen door open. Waverly tenses for a moment, Nicole stills.

 

She continues scrubbing and Nicole moves. She pours herself a cup of bitter coffee and suddenly wishes there was music playing. Something to soften the harsh silence.

 

The plate clatters in the sink without warning. Waverly faces Nicole, wash rag in hand. Her hands are still soapy, but she folds them against her chest.

 

“Are we friends?” Waverly glares at Nicole, in a decidedly  _ unfriendly _ manner.

 

Nicole knows it’s just the two of them in the kitchen, but she still looks to her left, then her right, just to make sure Waverly is, in fact, addressing her.

 

“I… I like to think,” Nicole stumbles over words, “I believe so.”

 

“Then why the  _ hell _ do you keep callin’ me  _ ma’am _ ?” Waverly’s face is hard and unflinching. “I have a  _ name _ .”

 

Nicole freezes, inside and out. Because the only answer she can think of is:  _ because you scare all hell out of me _ .

 

_ Because I don’t think ‘friends’ is the right word for this feeling. But I ain’t entirely sure _ .

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Nicole leaves Waverly with dismay on her face, regret on her own.

 

**-**

 

They need yeast from Purgatory General Store

 

Gus explained it to her one day. One of the few crops they don’t buy from a farmer is yeast. Partially due to when it grows. But the Earps also make it point to support the local Purgatory businesses, which means buying a main ingredient - yeast - from Shorty.

 

Waverly insists on riding with them.

 

“I’ve got some things for Miss Amy,” she informs Doc. “And she said she’d fix up my hair.” She runs her fingers through her loose hair, long and tumbling over her shoulder.

 

Nicole grits her teeth and peels her eyes, fixates them on the car. Or the trees. The road. Just not on  _ Waverly _ .

 

Because Waverly hasn’t spoken to her in two days, since that day in the kitchen. And it’s eating away at Nicole.

 

It’s probably not safe, but all three of them ride in the front, Waverly in the middle, pressing into Nicole with every turn of the road.

 

Doc makes a sharp right onto Locust, and Waverly’s hand finds Nicole’s thigh and squeezes.

 

The less rational part of Nicole wants to open the car door and jump out.

 

She tenses under Waverly’s grip; stares at the hand, knowing that a simple movement would place her own hand on Waverly’s. She glances at the car door handle.   
  
_ No…  _

 

After a few wretchedly long moments, Waverly looks at her hand, still on Nicole, and withdraws quickly. She holds it to her chest like she’s just been burned.

 

Nicole watches the view go by outside window, pretending she can’t still feel Waverly’s hand on her leg, pretending she’s not wishing it was still there.

 

**-**

 

She’s met him once - Shorty. He’s a kind man with gruff voice, and he wrapped Nicole in a big hug only moments after meeting her.

 

She figures he’s like Purgatory. She wasn’t expecting him, that hug, but once he’d wrapped around her in a warm embrace, shaking him off seemed sort of silly.

 

Right after that hug, he introduced Nicole to his most beloved possessions: his dogs. Rosie and Merry.

 

And as Rosie lifted her paw to hold Nicole’s hand, all of Nicole’s preconceived fears or notions of the town seemed to fade away. And she held that dog’s hand, promising herself to one day own a mutt just like her.

 

He greets her with the same embrace, shakes Doc’s hand strong and friendly. He smiles at Nicole like she imagines an uncle might, maybe even a father who smiles at their children.

 

Doc and Shorty head to the back for supplies. That’s when Nicole sees him.

 

The man that shouts Levi’s name in her mind over and over and  _ over _ .

 

_ Fish _ .

 

His eyes are deep and sunken, his shoulders sag. It looks like  _ loss _ .

 

No… Deeper than loss.

 

Like someone ripped his very soul out, just left the shell of the man.

 

Nicole looks around, and Doc and Shorty aren’t in sight. She cross the few short steps to him, standing silently beside him, pretending to take interest in cans of beans.

 

Her chest constricts even as she manages the words, quiet and trembling, “I’m sorry.”

 

He looks at her with eyes that seek some kind of console, but never seem to find it. Lost too deep to find it. Shell of a man, looking for his heart, but it’s  _ gone _ .

 

He nods his head and walks away.

 

**so much more |**

 

They’ve finished up at Shorty’s, and are making their towards Amy’s when Nicole sees it.

 

Him. 

 

_ Jonas _ . 

 

An arm is outstretched on one side of Waverly’s head, leaning against the wall.

 

He’s  _ touching _ her.

 

His hands run over  _ Waverly Earp’s _ face.

 

_ Poison _ .

 

A ghost of a hand grips Nicole’s neck and she’s suffocating.

 

“ _ You’re  _ **poison** _. _ ”

 

Jonas moves closer, and he’s  _ breathing _ on Waverly, in her face. She has to turn her head. She looks like a scared animal, like prey with predator taunting the kill.

 

_ Snake. Poisonous snake _ .

 

Nicole forces herself to breathe, in and out, but her fingernails still dig into her palms as she makes a fist and walks towards them.

 

As soon as she reaches them, Nicole steps between, a wall guarding Waverly. She puts an open palm on Jonas’s chest, pushing him back. She hears Waverly, a shudder.

 

“Don’t look like she wants to talk to you now.” Nicole tucks her thumbs into her belt loops, carefully watching Jonas. She keeps calm, but fire licks at her heart.

 

He steps back more with a scoff. He watches Nicole for a moment. She studies his eyes.

 

_ Poison _ .

 

“We’ll finish this conversation,” Jonas says, looking to Waverly. He turns, and the dust kicks up behind him as he walks away.

 

Nicole watches him go until he’s out of sight, because she’s most certain that Jonas Adamson just threatened Waverly. And it’s the first time, in a very long time, that Nicole has felt  _ terrified _ .

 

Nicole faces Waverly again, eyes combing over her body for any sign of harm.

 

It’s there. He might not have hurt her, but it’s there. Waverly holds her arms tightly around her waist, and the light in her face is gone. The lion, the angel, both have been chased away.

 

Even the strongest of creatures get scared into corners by the darkest of things.

 

She recalls the way Waverly held her hand while Nicole laid in bed. How her thumb brushed over the back of Nicole’s hand when Waverly thought she was asleep. She remembers the distinct peace that settled over her body.

 

Part of her says it’s a bad idea. The other part says she’s a damn fool, that she’ll regret it deeply if she doesn’t.

 

Nicole lifts her hands to Waverly’s arms hesitantly, expecting Waverly to flinch, to move away from her touch.

 

She doesn’t. She moves  _ closer _ . Like this might be some kind of healing thing - Nicole’s hands on Waverly, coaxing the lion back out of the corner.

 

So Nicole runs her hands down Waverly’s arms gently. They shake against Waverly’s skin, but she leans closer and says as softly as she can get her voice:

 

“ _ Waverly _ .”

 

Waverly looks up into Nicole’s face with red eyes and trembling lips. Everything  _ breaks _ . She folds into Nicole’s arms and falls against her chest. Waverly’s arms are still wrapped around her little body, but Nicole still holds her tight,  _ tighter _ , and feels hot tears through her shirt. She’s vaguely aware of Doc standing near - a guard, almost.

 

“ _ Waverly _ ,” Nicole whispers near her ear, over and over. “Waverly, my friend, Waverly.”

 

The more she says it, the more Nicole believes it her own self...

 

_ Friend _ . 

 

And with every utterance of her own name, Waverly seems to calm.

 

**-**

 

The ride back to Homestead is quiet. Waverly scoots into the middle seat without a sound. Nicole follows, and without warning, Waverly leans into Nicole’s side. Her body shudders from the crying, and Nicole squeezes her eyes, willing her own tears to stay put. She lifts her right hand, it’s awkward and unsure, but it finally comes to rest on Waverly’s arm where she’s got a tight grip on Nicole’s shirt.

 

Nicole does her best not to move in the jostling car. Soon, Waverly’s head is resting against her shoulder.

 

_ Waverly. My friend. _

 

**| if you’ll let me**

 

Waverly doesn’t speak much the rest of the day. Nicole keeps an eye on her from a distance, watching, worry deep in her soul.

 

Near sundown, she sees Waverly head for her land of trees.

 

Nicole follows.

 

She follows Waverly all the way to the swimming hole, to her big oak tree.

 

Finally, Waverly turns, acknowledges Nicole’s presence. The wind drifts through her hair like a solemn melody, and Nicole can’t move her gaze. Such devastating beauty, she’s never known.

 

Ducks on the pond make their presence known with grandiose. Waverly smiles. Nicole breathes a little easier.

 

They stand in silence for a moment. Only the breeze between them, but neither move.

 

Nicole shoves some dirt around with the toe of her boot. “How often he bother you like that?”

 

Waverly looks surprised at the question, like no one’s ever dared ask it. It makes Nicole  _ angry _ .

 

“How long?” she repeats, renewed determination set in her voice.

 

Waverly shifts her attention to the ducks; her face twists uncomfortably.

 

“Long?” Nicole asks, already knowing the answer.

 

Waverly lets her arms hang, and now her face is  _ pleading _ . For what, Nicole is unsure.

 

“He ain’t gonna stop. Don’t bother it.” Waverly’s voice sounds small in the big space.

 

All Nicole wants to do now is go back to when she had the courage to  _ touch _ . To reach out. Just a few steps forward and she’s there, right in front of Waverly, right there, opening her arms to her.  _ Holding _ her.

 

She closes her eyes and imagines she’s in a fight. When she  _ does _ have the courage to move.

 

“He ain't never gonna touch you again.” There’s a rage in Nicole’s chest she’s never known before, and she nods her head at her own words. “Never. I’ll make sure of it.”

 

Waverly pulls her coat close around her little body. “Yeah?”

 

Nicole nods. “I can do that.”

 

The Lion flickers in Waverly's eyes, the smallest bit. Nicole smiles.

 

**-**

 

Nicole watches Waverly from across the table. Her hands are shaking. She sees Jonas, his breath on Waverly’s cheek, his hands trapping her in place.

 

Come hell or high water, Nicole Haught will keep that promise. Jonas Adamson will never touch Waverly Earp again.

 

But he still lingers in her mind, Nicole sees it. He’s behind her, whispering in her ear.

 

Days pass. Even with Nicole’s promise, Waverly can’t seem to shake him.

 

**-**

 

Nicole lies in bed, reading a book that Waverly had lent her - the book Waverly read to her, that night:  _ The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes _ .

 

She hears tires sliding over gravel and sits up, alert. The hair on the back of her neck stands on edge and she  _ knows _ .

 

“ _ Waverly _ !”

 

Nicole’s heart slams the inside of her ribcage, hard and fast. She wished to all hell she’d been wrong.

 

_ Jonas _ .

 

No time. Up. Move. Door. Down the hall. 

 

_ Stop _ .

 

Waverly stands at the top of the stairs, hand at her throat, small robe covering a smaller nightgown.

 

“Stay up there.” Nicole doesn’t ask.

 

Through the kitchen, out the bar.

 

Front door.

 

Jonas is on one knee, drunk off his ass. Nicole’s not even sure how he managed to drive here.

 

_ He threatened her... _

 

The rocks dig into her bare feet as she moves towards him.

 

Shirt collar.

 

_ Touched her... _

 

She grabs it, hoists him with great strength, nearly carries him the distance to his car, shoving him against it.

 

Jonas lets out a grunt. He doesn’t even try to fight back. So Nicole takes his face in her free hand, other one still firm at his neck. She looks into his poisonous eyes, glazed from the alcohol.

 

“You’re gonna get in this car, drive away, and leave Waverly Earp the hell alone.”

 

His cheek slides from the wet of the liquor, and she grips firmer, and he groans in pain.

 

“You understand me? You don’t come back here,  _ ever _ ... again.”

 

Nicole has never wanted to kill a man before, at least not for many years now. But she looks in Jonas’s eyes and the instinct returns. Ain’t no doing for a man like this. Nothing left but to let him rot in a jail cell.

 

Only, the man who’d put him there employs this one. Runs this town.

 

Jonas glares back at Nicole, and suddenly that haze over his eyes has lifted. He’s looking at her like she’s just given him some great purpose - his newest task. A brand new fire, hot and wicked.

 

He shrugs her loose, spits at her feet, and rounds the car. Just as he’s about to get in, he glances back. And Nicole swears he’s got the same look on his face that Judge did.

 

_ Hollow _ .

  
  


**I can do that |**

 

Such a foolish thing, climbing the stairs to Waverly’s room. Tapping her fingers on Waverly’s door. Listening for Waverly’s voice.

 

But she is.

 

Where her thoughts had been occupied with Jonas before, and Waverly standing in front of her in a very small nightgown was afterthought, it’s very near to the front of Nicole’s mind now. Because if Waverly opens this door, that’s what she’ll see. It makes her want to bang her forehead against the door.

 

Nicole listens for any sound, hears a small sniffle. Her heart breaks. Feet pad across the floor and the door creaks open, just barely. Eyes peek out, red, a swollen nose.

 

Her feet move before her mind does, she’s an inch closer. When it catches up, her brain shouts, pounding between her ears - just go to her.

 

_ Hold her _ .

 

Her brows knit instead. She speaks. “I just - wanted to make sure you’re alright, s’pose.” Her eyes move down to her fidgeting hands, they won’t stop.

 

Waverly chuckles despite the clear evidence she’s been crying. “You s’pose?”

 

Their eyes meet and  _ still _ . In that moment, Nicole wants to look into Waverly’s eyes forever. Red from tears, wrinkled from laughing, wide from curiosity. All of them.

 

She stammers over a reply. “I… I  _ did _ . I did want to. No supposing.” She’s breaking under the weight of it, the truth, and it stumbles from her lips, almost choked out:

 

“I  _ need _ to know,” Nicole can hear the pleading in her own voice. “I need to know if you’re alright.”

 

The door has fallen open, and Waverly crosses her arms, holding her waist. In that little nightgown. Like a beautiful bird who knows she’s being hunted. But somehow her eyes are soft to the way Nicole speaks.

 

“Why’s that?” Waverly’s voice is almost a whisper.

 

Nicole doesn’t have an answer. At least, not one with words. She can fix a leak or do the dishes, till soil, walk land and use her fists to protect it. She’d do it all for Waverly, but she doesn’t know any words for why that is. Because she doesn’t know what  _ it _ is.

 

Nicole looks helplessly at Waverly. A thought occurs to her.

 

“You, uh… after that night, I couldn’t sleep. You read to me.”

 

Waverly’s chest lifts like she’s taking a deep breath, and she bites softly on her bottom lip. Nicole nearly forgets what she was saying.

 

“I could do that.”

 

**-**

 

Waverly is asleep, one arm tucked into Nicole’s, forehead resting against her shoulder. Nicole closes the book and sets it on the bedside table.

 

She shimmies down as gently as possible, because she knows she ain’t leaving this bed as long as Waverly holds onto her like this.

 

Nicole’s never held anyone while they slept, not since she held onto Mama, like clinging to her would make her better, make her  _ stay _ .

 

So she doesn’t dare leave in this moment. Not this time.

 

Nicole gazes in a sort of wonder, tucks loose hair behind Waverly’s ear.

 

Waverly doesn’t move.

 

Nicole’s heart pounds fierce as she leans forward, placing a light kiss on her forehead.

 

She lies beside Waverly, her arm folded around the small body, always protecting. Her cheek rests against the top of long, soft hair.

 

Nicole’s voice is barely audible to her own self as she murmurs, dropping quickly to sleep:

 

“‘Night, Waverly Earp.”

 

 

 

**-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... ehh? yay? nay?
> 
> Factoid: The Amelia Earhart newspaper clipping is one of the items Nicole always carries in her bag.
> 
> Factoid: Constance Clootie is a conglomeration of eccentric people. One of whom is Gerald Tyrwhitt-Wilson. He had pigeons that he dyed a variety of colors.
> 
> Hit me up on twitter (haughpocket) or tumblr (https://haught0pocket.tumblr.com/). I like to talk. I also love CAPITAL LETTERS. You have been warned!

**Author's Note:**

> Did anyone make it to the end of this...?
> 
> Cool cool cool cool cool .. so I'll just say this for my own self.
> 
> The fic title comes from the song Wayfaring Stranger (which yeah is the title of the chapter... but... it makes sense. JUST TRUST ME)
> 
> I'm up to FIVE documents in my google docs with info and research on this thing. Sooo... here's a thing. [This is Judge's gun](https://www.google.com/search?q=Colt+Bisley+Model+.38-40+WCF&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwif_Zf48_nZAhVNyGMKHUjvCO8Q_AUICygC&biw=1919&bih=922#imgrc=FXoaVDXSdktNtM:)
> 
> Shoutout to drunkhaught who bought me my Fandras pillow which I clutched tightly while going over final revisions. Also shoutout to heathermgirls who just keeps being the biggest fic writer cheerleader there ever was. Shoutout to my dog who is the bestest puppy babyface SQUISHY in the whole wide world.
> 
> Actually. I just looked. And she's not even in my room with me. What a jerk.
> 
> *whispers to self* how many shoutouts can I get in until they get bored with me...
> 
>  
> 
> okay anyway I'm on twitter @ haughtpocket and tumblr https://haught0pocket.tumblr.com/ (someone stole my damn name if you find them LET ME KNOW) so feel free to drop me a question or like "what the hell dude" or maybe "I luh you so much you're my favorite ever" but whatever I'm not the boss of you


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